


Truth or Dare

by Mraowface



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Cucumbers, F/F, Lots of alcohol, M/M, Nuns, The best kind of buckaroo, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-28 22:16:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21399517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mraowface/pseuds/Mraowface
Summary: A nice and accurate transcript of a drinking session between Aziraphale, Crowley, Anathema and (presumably at some point in the evening) Newton.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Truth or Dare

**Author's Note:**

> So I decided to write this having soaked a healthy amount of melon in an unhealthy amount of vodka: sober proofreading could well happen at some point...

Anathema span the bottle, a sly smile on her face. It landed on... Aziraphale.

“Truth or dare?”

“Oh, truth please!” Aziraphale looked far too happy at all of these goings on. Crowley groaned and kept drinking.

“Alright... have you ever had sex with a woman?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale still smiled.

“_What??”_ Crowley looked twelve kinds of outraged. “I don't believe you. Remember that one time we ended up in a brothel, and you turned _literally green_ at the sight of a pair of tits? You have absolutely never slept with a woman. Never.”

Aziraphale waited until Crowley had finally paused in his monologue. “Actually dearest, you're wrong. You remember that little nunnery in the 12th century, the one with the stained glass window you pelted with stones until I'd leave with you?”

“Yes...”

“And you know how I was um... female at the time?”

“Yes, Aziraphale, I remember,” said Crowley through gritted teeth. “What's your point, _dearest?”_

“Well, the food wasn't up to much, and we weren't allowed wine, the habits were all scratchy... Crowley, it was awful! But, well, there was one sister who _did_ have some wine and... it was just the once, mind...”

“Fucking nuns,” Crowley spat.

“Well, quite, dear. Now, is it my turn?” He span the bottle. “Ah, Anathema. Truth or dare?”

“Hmm, I'll take a dare, please.”

“Ooh, um... Crowley, do you have any ideas?”

The demon just glared in response, and downed his drink.

“Ah, I know. Mix yourself a drink from that cabinet, with... five different bottles please.”

“Mmm, my pleasure.” Anathema mixed a concoction of white rum, dark rum, continued the theme with spiced rum, and then topped it off with a shot each of vodka and scotch. “Ooph, it's... good?” She took another gulp. “Yep, that's pretty good!”

Continuing with not particularly small sips of her new drink, she span again. “Crowley! Pick your poison.”

“Dare,” Crowley blurted, almost too quickly to be understood.

“Are you sure, dearest? I'd be quite interested to hear some of your stories...” Aziraphale sounded hopeful.

“Dare. Absolutely dare. 100% dare.” He nudged a snoring Newton. “Newt, back me up here.” No response.

“Oh, leave him alone, he's enjoying himself,” said Anathema.

“He's comatose.”

“Yep! He's happy like that. Wait right there, I just thought of something.” She hurried off into the kitchen.

“Right..., I want you to swallow this, without chewing, please!” She held up an especially long cucumber.

Crowley groaned. “You can't make me eat food! It's... it's bad for my digestive system.”

“Nonsense, love. It'll be good for you,” encouraged Aziraphale. “Vitamins and... vitamins.” He took another glug of the lovely drink Anathema had mixed for him. She did seem to know an awful lot about rum.

“Fine,” sighed Crowley. “Give it here.” He unhinged his jaw impressively, and started to drop the cucumber down his throat.

“Wait! Crowley, the wrapper's still on!” Aziraphale looked alarmed.

Anathema and the angel were treated to the sight of a snakish demon removing the first half of a cucumber from his throat.1 They both chose to look away.

Crowley coughed, and took the plastic off. “Right, here we go.” This time he dropped the cucumber straight down his gullet, right into his stomach. He gulped.

“Well, that was... impressive,” said Anathema, looking appraisingly at Aziraphale.

“He's so talented,” murmured the angel. “You wouldn't believe how useful it can be!”

Crowley turned tomato red, and glared at his drink till it refilled. He emptied it. Anathema and Aziraphale clinked glasses.

The bottle landed on Newton next.

“Newt, you bastard, you're up!” Crowley was not feeling particularly generous in spirit. He gave Newton a shove with his elbow.

“Hands off, snakey.” Anathema glared with the clear intention of being the only one in the room entitled to elbow Newton.

“Ok, fine. Can we just play buckaroo?”

They quickly established a new drinking game: take a shot of alcohol, the more potent the better, place a household object on top of Newton Pulsifer, and pour a shot for the next player.

Thirty minutes and a prodigious amount of rum later, Newt was covered in seven tea towels, five cushions, a variety of kitchen implements, the living room curtains,2 a carefully constructed cage made of chairs, and one king size duvet. It would have been queen size, but Aziraphale refused to give that one up.

The remaining three drinkers ended up huddled under the queen size duvet, passing the last bottle of spiced rum between them on the living room floor. Speech became slurred, limbs relaxed. Anathema tried not to snigger as Aziraphale and Crowley ended up very nearly 69ing and the demon started talking soulfully to his partner's crotch.

“You're my besssst friend. Aziraphale, I love you. I should say it more. Azssssiraphale, I fucking _love_ you.”

It was when Crowley started making out with Aziraphale's crotch3 that Anathema decided to call it a night. She snuck upstairs, curled up under a blanket, and left them to it.

An unknown amount of oral sex may or may not have happened,4 based on their state of undress in the morning. Everyone was very certain when Newton woke up, as he dislodged the chairs all over Aziraphale and Crowley.

Anathema was the only one with enough sense not to have a hangover.

1With appropriate sound effects.

2Oops.

3With no objections from said angel.

4It didn't happen if you don't remember it.

**Author's Note:**

> Valvopus, oh the drinking games


End file.
